by Broker

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Camryn Marquez
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Camryn Marquez I love the fact that this album was recorded live and has such an honest and raw feel to it. There are some seriously beautiful and morose chords on this album. Although the playing is kind of technical and mathematical, it doesn't come across as chauvinistic but necessary to communicate such complex emotions. Favorite track: White.
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Produced by Mark Roberts- www.markrobertsproducerengineer.com
Mixed by Mark Roberts and Tim Rowkins- www.timrowkins.com
Recorded at Middle Farm Studios except tracks 4 and 6 recorded at The Old Chapel Studios
www.middlefarmstudios.com www.theoldchappelstudios.com
Additional engineering by Pete Miles and Paul Burton
Mastered at www.hellyeahmastering.com
Released on Smalltown America 21/10/16
Big thanks to all involved!


released October 22, 2016



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Broker Brighton, UK

BROKER are a band from Brighton UK. A UK band. Brighton. Broker.


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Track Name: Talk
Believe me when I say I tried to slice the day right, wrap it up in smooth shade…but nothing hit me hard of late so what now sugar?
What now honey? Brushing up against your silence, what can I say? ‘It's only chemical and one hundred more come rushing and
I only speak in chasms now’? Believe me when I say I wouldn’t like to say I’m all that different these days but I’d love to say it.
I always blacken what I finger out so stop telling me I’m a sharp one. I don’t think that you know me too well, though you might
know me better than anyone. This state of affairs…what the fuck do you think this is? In a lifetime of dangerous traits I don’t know
which to sever or display. I think we should just talk more…but then I found today; your ways stalled me.
Track Name: Eau De Vie
Impassioned rapturous pleas to reject and revive amount to nothing when you want them outside your own life and in your rose tinted plans for a life and a place defined by freedoms
and simplicity you’ve yet to taste you strike a navel stare and try to kid yourself that once upon a time we didn’t kill ourselves. The truth a wayward disease; to avoid and retreat:
the real endeavour of your hedonistic, regressive dream. You talk too much about a brave return but it’s not what you really mean. You want the world to be tabula rasa in the trappings of
modernity. Animal passion…inherent compassion…it just bears no real relation to the past you imagine. Your tunnel vision, your near utopia will only end up has your own worst enemy…
has only ended up your own worst enemy. Blinkered in ignorant bliss; never will change anything when you wont change because there is comfort in being opposed.
‘Marginal’ means no one cares; ‘spiritual’ means you’re backing out of where you are because you’ve nothing real to propose. What do you think you’ll find on getting there?
Self-serve enlightenment? Heaven in a vending machine? In years past men still killed men for gain. Bucolic pastoral bliss is a fucking day dream and you’d hate it if you had to have it.
Track Name: Quixota
And that’s another big shot in the arm for the way that we glide and the guilt when we walk by; Pushing away because of what we believe him to be on the sides in a life framed in otherness.
I have a room, I have a towel, I have WIFI and a spares drawer. I move away from the sun when it gets in my eyes but you are forced to interface with a world that doesn’t want to hear it.
‘Him with his bottle, his shaking moves, making his way through a capital wreck. Look at him: buried before he died. Every day is the same. Him with his crying his poor eyes out, him with his dog in the same place.
Nothing is given or taken back, every day is the same: Quixota/Quixote…and it’s things like this that make me wish that one act was enough (‘of selfless harm’) In the name of our being realistic we’re all dressed up
in a disregard we’ve named as a fact of living. Empty out your bank account and burn your home. ‘and It’s been raining hard these last days, and the wet streets are easing
our retreat’ But I never forget a face and to the tune of my own footsteps leaving, my whole heart sang “wait, wait”.
Track Name: Torso, The Idol
When the weight lifts and the day shifts I’ll be fine, alive, untied to the way it was. Fate hollowed and the past swallowed, it’s a pain, a trial, but a thing for the day before. Slow stepping in fine fettle, when the rush dies its firm on the ground and I’m so sorry when I can’t see you but better time/hours than a choice made in haste so I’ll see you next time.
Track Name: Yoghurt
“you really shouldn’t be cooking with palm oil”
Track Name: What The Contestants Don't Know
Welcome to this week’s show. What the contestants here don’t know is that they’re even playing.
So pick a class closest to you to invest all hopes and dreams. Low interest self esteem. Do you know the price you’re paying for the time
you are wasting? Look past the Christmas number one and the ‘look at the life you could have won!’ Instead look at the things you could have done.
Look aghast at the parties having fun at our expense. Next year please don’t pick up the phone and vote. Mark X here. Stop paying for Simon’s moat.
Track Name: The Grass Is Always Greener in Kreuzberg
Is it the town? All these identities? That keep you staid? Unfulfilled? You’re always up and down and you say that it’s because of how everything else is but
you’ll be chasing your tail always while the only things that will change are the buildings. You say your energy is wasted here but you’re just tired out from
dodging honesty. Come on now; for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been making excuses as if to settle for less than a childish ideal is a concession too far.
You point fingers at structures yet lean on them everyday. Maybe it’s time to stop sulking and reconcile the things that you want with their gain.
Track Name: Miller
The year we cried out for friends and strangers. You: collared and weeping. Our eyes gone red and wet; living amidst loose ends and days of knowing that
we’ve seen our time; places soon to be removed here in a world that hurtles blind. I’ve seen for real: your grief animal and I know for sure you’ve fought it off as
best you can but your head’s been sore for too long. I saw the way you gripped your frightened heart and shook with all you never told. I saw you lose yourself
for days on end in something you could not control. Don’t wait too long to learn that howling at the moon has only heart your throat. For all your treading water you
only drowned in trying to stay afloat. Goodbye, Mange. I hope you find what you’re looking for on your way through the world.
Track Name: White
Sometimes sapphire, sometimes silence, sometimes nothing there but piss and ire thrown against the walls in this our home. The next day gave way
to gazes resigned. The downward eye lines flit and scan the last years. You in your corner, me in mine. There was a time when no such venom would bed for
night; smashed against argument’s rough coral, but then again it was suddenly that the walls went white and black mould clung…Paint stained fingers; hurried
boxes sealed; a space in your place and long nights lying next to it. Risk and failure and forever left to slot it in its place. Sapphire burnt to grit beneath black mould;
clung to the backs of frames. White walls and gritted teeth. White walls peeling and black nails clinging. In all four corners the house is plain now. White walls peeling.
‘Not in this house’. It all just is plain now.

Life goes on. Forever tangled and gliding.